Chapter 11 Why Do I Always Fall for Fictional Men? #2
Pop singer Harmony Sonora starts a musical feud with country singer Riff Hurley, but he *finishes* it.
Harmony’s relationships with men like Luke Onstenk and Andy Gaccione have left her with emotional baggage, but Riff swoops in to make it all better and show her what a real man can do (particularly in the bedroom). Explicit scenes every chapter!
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This one doesn’t bother to change anything publicly known about me.
It also goes into great speculative detail about “my” emotions and insecurities, how I’ve been with a few important men but none of them has ever made me orgasm.
The writer includes detailed bedroom scenes of me with several of my exes.
It portrays me as a vulnerable little doe, intimidated by the “at least one hundred women” Riff surely must have slept with, seeing as he’s so incredibly attractive and famous and rich (as though my fame and wealth and accomplishments have no bearing on my potential to sleep with lots of people if I want to).
Then this version of Riff proceeds to blow my mind with some special oral tricks and a manhood so large that fanfic-me gasps and says, “I don’t know if it will fit! ”
I stare at the words on the screen, shaking.
These writers are treating me and Riff like fictional characters, not real human beings. To them we’re just vehicles for their own kinky fantasies. Random people are getting off thinking about us getting off.
My insides are a cocktail of horrified and reluctantly turned on.
Imagining sexy scenarios with Riff gets my blood rushing in a way I simply cannot allow.
Thinking of other people imagining—nay, actively dreaming up and writing down—those same scenarios makes me want to smash my fist through a wall.
Jenna and other members of my team do their best to console me but I just want to be alone.
I get home and put on a matching sweat set and curl into a ball on the couch. Mimi, my fluffy orange ragdoll cat, curls up next to me, purring up a storm.
For what is technically considered a mansion (even though saying that word makes me feel like a snob), I find this home to be a cozy shelter from the madness.
It’s an off-white Spanish Revival home on a one-acre lot surrounded by trees in an Encino enclave.
The big windows and skylights paired with the two-story foyer make it feel open, but the stone fireplace and exposed wood beams add warmth.
It also has a lot of rounded features, like a turret and a curving staircase and several arched doorways.
Being in it all alone can sometimes be daunting, but with Mimi here and the TV on in the background, it’s great.
Sometime after midnight I go to bed, but sleep is the restless kind as I spiral about the fan fiction some more.
I’m too drowsy to get up and do something productive instead, but too awake to fall all the way asleep.
I drift off a few times but always reawaken.
At some point, I must actually sleep because a new fanfic comes to life behind my closed eyes.
In it I am Lady Armonía Sonora, who meets a handsome stranger at a masquerade ball given by the Duchess Fantisse.
After stealing away to the maze of gardens on the grand estate with said man—for a stroll during which he ignites my carnal passions—I discover that the man is no average aristocrat but in fact the Viscount of Hurley!
Unsettled, I flee into the night, but throughout the following days he pursues my attention with letters, to which I respond with carefully penned vitriol.
The viscount replies in equal measure to my accusations against his integrity, and we begin a weekly exchange.
Each letter evokes new creativity of words and insults, and stimulates my mind in ways I do not anticipate.
But then—then—the Grand Duke orders an arranged marriage …
between the viscount and myself. Naturally I am appalled.
We are ordered to court publicly beforehand.
Details are fuzzy after that, and then the “fic” (of which it seems I am the author) cuts to a scene where my voluminous skirts are hitched up to my hips as the viscount, wearing a waistcoat and cravat, kisses my neck and frantically unfastens his trousers.
Before the next part, I sit up in bed, sucking in a breath.
What the actual fuck?
I bury my face in my hands.
I note the throbbing spot between my legs.
Half of me wants to lie back down and close my eyes and see if I can pick up where I left off. The other half of me wants to hug my knees to my chest and cry.
I wish I had never gone to the FANTASIE release party. I wish I had never met Riff Hurley.
With the first signs of daylight comes a text message from Stefanie that might as well be a knife in my chest.
STEFANIE: Sorry to text you so early but just wanted to let you know your writing session with Riff got moved up. Charles wants you two in the writers’ lounge first thing tomorrow. I know you’re pissed, but I’m excited for you. “Hate to Love” is going to be a big hit!