I didn't know how many times I had heard that porn was fake. That the settings were fake. That the fucking was fake. That the orgasms were fake.

I don't know where that came from because nothing I did was, in fact, ever fake. I was just so good.

There wasn't always chemistry between me and the female actor, but if there wasn't, I saw it as my job as a hired professional to make sure the fucking was good anyway. Not just good, but so mind-blowing the female actor would never find satisfaction like the one provided by me anywhere in the industry ever again. I believed that was the key to my success; my capacity to fuck the girls senseless made the films real because they weren't faking anything. My films were hugely popular, entailing I was a massive name within the porn industry, only accepting roles that gave me hefty sums of money. The girls dreamed of shooting with me.

The girl beneath me was sweet, full of soft curves with shoulder-length, brown hair and a kind face. She was clutching my arms as if there was no tomorrow but gaining no grip as they consisted of bone and muscle and skin and nothing else; there was nothing to grab on to as I worked above her. As I thrusted, I lifted her breast lightly with my hand, sucked on an erect, brown nipple causing her to scream, and with one final, harsh thrust she came, grabbing onto my white hair and pulling in desperation.

I pulled out before she could finish, turned her over, took her from behind, thrusted to her screams until I came inside her with a grunt, grabbing onto her soft waist.

She turned her face round, desperate for a kiss which I gave her, playing with her tongue with my tongue piercing outside of our lips for the cameras.

"Good. Good we have what we need."

I stopped the kiss, pulled out.

"No!!" she whined.

I smirked at her, wrestled her on to her back, pinned her wrists down, kissed her again despite us being done filming, making sure I didn't put too much weight on her as I was close to two metres and packed with muscle. She moaned in surprise as I pinned her down which caused me to groan; I enjoyed her as much as she was enjoying me.

"Get dressed", the director said, to no avail and he knew it; I was desired enough by the directors for me to be able to be able do whatever I wanted on set after we were done filming without any consequences.

The team left me to it.

I took a bit too much time with her because I didn't even have time to shower in the hotel room where we had filmed before I had to leave. So I just pulled a long-sleeved, black T-shirt over my strong torso, tousled my hair, naturally so fair it was almost white, and took a good pair of black trousers that looked incredible with my Dr Martens boots. I still smelled of sex, but that couldn't be helped. The cologne I used did, however, enhance that smell into something heavenly, the combination of the strong, sweaty smell of having fucked someone with the musk of the perfume creating a synergistic effect so that one and one wasn't two or even three but a much, much stronger number. I took a green apple from a bowl in the hotel room and bit down on it, ensured I had a package of chewing gum in my coat pocket, and left the hotel room, half an hour after the girl left to go home to get ready as well.

We were both invited to the same party, but of course not going together. I never went together with anyone. At thirty, many men might panic about settling down. Me, however, had no such ambitions. In fact, the thought of settling down caused me great discomfort. I enjoyed my freedom, my promiscuity way too much. Settling down was not an option for me as long as the porn industry was still part of my life, and I planned on letting it be for a long time.

I entered the lobby of the hotel where this particular party was to be held, enjoying the red carpets and golden balustrades. The fact that I was not only admitted for free, but paid to be here was mouth-watering to me. I had so much money I could easily have afforded buying the entire hotel in which the party was held, but making money attending... I knew I had done good for myself.

I did have a college education, having studied economy. My grades had been decent enough, but what truly made me thrive in college was my huge popularity. I was the best rugby player of the team, social, outgoing, and I had no trouble getting girlfriends (even some boys offered themselves to me, but I always declined as boys weren't my cup of tea). I was a jerk, which in college worked wonders to increase your social status. I was still a jerk, truly, being nice to you only if you had something I wanted, but as a successful adult, I could just avoid people I didn't feel like being nice to. Which were many.

In my final year of college, I'd been offered a role in a pornographic film. I was simply contacted on my social media. I had accepted. That one video I had filmed had given me so much money, I was hooked. And I had enjoyed filming, having fucked the girl and myself senseless. So of course when I was offered a contract, I accepted. Dumping my girlfriend at the time had been the easiest thing in the work.

"Mr Senju", a body guard at the elevator said. "Welcome."

I didn't respond but just entered the beautiful elevator, which I had to myself, and let it take me to the twenty-eight floor. I smirked as the door opened to a dark, sophisticated party, playing my lip with my tongue piercing, a bad but hot habit I had. I had always been a party boy, and despite my ragged and unwashed state I couldn't help but feel mostly comfortable and at ease, with just a hint of nerves making the whole experience to a burst of flavour in my mouth, just like the slight hint of chocolate in red wine could elevate the entire wine-drinking experience.

I was immediately engulfed by a group of men I knew well from the industry, handed a glass of champagne. I took a sip, feeling my tongue curl in pleasure.

"Shit, this is dry", I said; it was a huge compliment.

"It is, isn't it?"

"It's fucking delicious."

"There's someone looking at you, Tobirama", one of my boys said.

I looked to where he pointed, and lo and behold, it was the girl I had filmed with today. She was shorter than I had thought I could see now as she stood up, and I was surprised to find she had quite an alternative skater-style despite her cutesy face.

But what really caught my interest was the girl beside her. Tall, heavy, with broad shoulders and thick, red hair that went to her waist. She had a full suit on that I wanted to peel off her body immediately.

I walked to them, casually put my hand around the waist of the girl I'd filmed with but flirted vigorously with the redhead. The pretty girl beside me was becoming increasingly upset, and somewhere deep in my heart, I felt a tug in some strings; she didn't pout or become irritated but seemed genuinely hurt. Dignity, was a word suitable for her. It wasn't that hard not to care, though, my mind being on the goal in front of me. The redhead was hard at first, but warmed up to me. I released the short beauty next to me, pushed the redhead against the wall and started making out with her.

What happened with the short skater girl I didn't know. But I managed to get the redhead to invite me home.

My neighbours would hate me for turning the shower on at four am, but I didn't care. Just like I didn't care about a lot of things.

I leaned my head back, pulled my hands through my hair, it's coarseness hidden by the wetness, and felt incredibly satisfied with myself. Getting a girl to invite you home wasn't the easiest, and I never invited them to me. Never had. Never would. Some things just needed to remain... Private, I thought, thinking about my apartment and the surprises placed all over it that nobody had seen.

I reached my tongue out, let the shower water rain on my tongue, wet the titanium piercing I had there, pulled my hands along my ears to let myself become aware of the piercings there as well; both lobes, an industrial and conch in the left side, a helix and forwards helix on the right. My hands went further down my abdomen, kept strong and muscular by vigorous exercise; I knew I had to maintain my body in order to maintain my status in the industry. In the no-fog mirror opposite the vast glass doors of my shower, I could see the beautiful black wings tattooed on my shoulder blades by a famous Italian tattoo artist. On my left arm was a full sleeve depicting a Japanese garden in black-and-white I'd made in Japan, on my right forearm a cloud with a cute face that cried blood, made by the same Italian artist that had made the wings. I loved my tattoos and couldn't wait to cover more of my body in them.

The water scorched me as I washed out the sex and the party and then the sex again. My legs were sore from all the hard work but I loved it. I sighed. At thirty, most porn actors had quit, looking too old or just having gotten tired of it. But not me. I felt that I got better each year, earned more and more money, got better and better girls.

My parents had given up on me long ago. I hadn't heard from them in years. Since I graduated college, to be honest. My mother had hoped I would get a job matching my education. My father had wished for me to keep playing rugby if I didn't pursue an academic career. I could've done either. But I didn't see the point as I could earn so much money by fucking.

I got out of the shower, put a towel around my hips, took another one to dry my hair. I looked at myself in the mirror; the strong jaw, the stubble that, as opposed to most men, made my face look lighter as my hair was so fair, my light blue eyes that would look dead if it hadn't been for my naturally furrowed brows, standing out on my face as they were lighter than the skin as my stubble was.

I took some lotion on my neck and planned my day. I would sleep until lunch, then go to the gym, spend a good two hours there. Then, I was going to film again. Another party. Another shower.

Life would continue its never-ending circle.

Until one day, it wouldn't.