The next morning, I woke up with a sharp, energized snap. The heavy exhaustion of the previous day had lifted, replaced by the crackling anticipation of a man who knew his life had fundantally changed.
I began by checking my System tab, the translucent blue interface floating right where I wanted it.
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[Na: Druski Hart]
[Age 24]
Level 1]
[Body Count: 1]
[Scenes: 1]
[Porn Start 2025]
[Rank: Unranked]
Current Balance $9,600.00
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"Nine more scenes to go to Rank Up, huh?" I mused. That felt like a daunting task, but after the first twenty-four hours, nothing seed impossible.
I closed the System tab, the real-world trics now calling my attention. I imdiately opened the XXX Global Hub app on my iPhone.
The screen lit up with a barrage of alerts. I had 35 notifications—far fewer than the thousands of views, but still significant.
I scrolled down to my video profile. The numbers hit like a shot of pure adrenaline.
174,000 views.
One hundred seventy-four thousand views in less than twenty-four hours. That was an unbelievable start. This wasn’t just money but also exposure. This was the audience that would fund the rest of my career.
I opened the comnt section and ran through them. My heart imdiately sank. The video itself had scored 37 percent likes, which was incredibly low. The audience reaction was brutal, a chaotic mix of admiration for Sasha and savage critiques of .
The comnts about Sasha were pure fire:
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"Who’s she?
What’s her @?
She’s got a nice pussy, I’d definitely fuck her raw and cum inside her.
The way she rides... perfection. That auburn hair is driving wild.
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But for , the comnts were a personalized attack on the body I inhabited:
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The guy can’t even fuck, that’s a waste of dick.
Lol that girl definitely got so work teaching this guy how to fuck.
Scrawny asf.
Great cock, terrible host. You need to hit the gym, bro.
Looks like he peaked in high school gym class. Why is he so pale
37% approval? That’s what you get for being a soft boy with a hard dick.
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I exited the comnt section and checked the Tip Jar. To my surprise, there were so tips. Small amounts. $5, $10, $20—but they were adding up quickly, a steady validation of my Virgin Producer gimmick.
[ $210 in Direct Tips Received]
The monetary and engagent success triggered the reward, proving it wasn’t as bad as I had thought after all. The views and tips affird the concept; the savage comnts identified the flaw.
The System recognized the external validation instantly:
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[SOCIAL INTERACTION: SWAGGER Attribute Check... SUCCESS!]
[ 1 SWAGGER POINT AVAILABLE]
I imdiately slamd the point into the attribute.
[SWAGGER: 1 Point Applied (Current: 5/10)]
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The confidence surged, but the sting of the comnts lingered. The viral hook was working, but the visual product,which was —was failing the audience’s expectation. If I wanted to maintain the high view count and achieve Amateur Star Rank, I had to eliminate the weakest link: my physique.
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I walked down the hall and stopped outside Sasha’s door.I knocked once, sharply.
She opened the door and stepped outside, blocking the entrance imdiately. She only wore a flimsy pair of black lace panties, and her magnificent breasts were displayed proudly against her bare torso. The sight of her, fresh from bed, was enough to make my cock stir instantly beneath my shorts.
"What the fuck do you want this early?" she snapped, lighting a cigarette with a flick of her thumb. Her tone was sharp, betraying the fact that I had interrupted her sleep.
"Can we talk inside, at least?" I said, my eyes openly devouring her juicy breasts, the Swagger attribute making brazen.
She puffed the smoke out slowly, the plu curling around her auburn hair.
"We can’t go inside," she said, her voice dropping. "I have a client in there."
"Oh?" I said, the sound laced with jealousy I couldn’t completely suppress. The possessiveness of Cupid clearly hadn’t died.
"So, what’s so important that you wake up this early?" she pressed, crossing her arms, which only served to lift her chest slightly higher.
Instead of answering, I pulled up my iPhone, logged into my XXX Global Hub profile, and thrust the screen into her line of sight.
Her eyes, initially glazed with sleep and annoyance, widened as she registered the numbers.
"174,000 views," I stated, my voice heavy with triumph. "In less than 24 hours. The Neighborly Intervention is viral."
Sasha’s professional calm broke. She dropped the cigarette to the floor and crushed it under her heel, her attention now fully on the screen. She scrolled through the comnts, her initial look of triumph slowly morphing into a calculated critique.
"The concept worked," she conceded, nodding at the view count. "But look at the comnts, Druski. They love , they hate you. 37 percent likes. That’s terrible retention. Your virgin gimmick is getting views, but your performance and appearance are costing you paying fans."
I scrolled down to the most brutal comnts, letting her read them. "I know. ’Scrawny,’ ’Can’t fuck,’ ’Waste of dick.’ That’s why I’m here."
I minimized the app and showed her my gym mbership confirmation. "I’m heading to the gym now. I’m investing every cent I have into fixing my physique." I t her eyes, letting my new Swagger level push the confrontation.
"I can still help you beco a hunk in bed," she said. "That was part of the $600 dollar agreent."
I nodded. "A thirty minutes sex lesson before every session."
She bit her lower lip, confirming the terms.
"I need to film the next scene as soon as possible," I continued. "I’m buying professional equipnt today. I want to shoot Scene number 2—a direct response to the haters, where I am demonstrably bigger, better, and focused entirely on pleasing my star."
"We agreed on ten scenes, didn’t we?" she countered, trying to solidify the long-term commitnt.
"I just wanted to confirm my star’s availability," I said. "My offer stands: $600 for a full scene and a sex lecture before shooting the scene. I need a concrete schedule because the equipnt will be here tonight. I need a yes or no, Sasha. Because if you’re too busy,"
I let my glance try to see inside her room, using the client in there as leverage, "I will have to find another lead who is willing to capitalize on this viral window."
The pressure was on. The money and the exposure were too good to pass up.
"Fine, Producer," she said, the title now sounding less mocking and more professional. "I’ll clear my schedule. Tomorrow night, 9 PM. And you better have those new lights set up, or the next scene will feature walking out on your pathetic amateur setup."
She stepped back, giving a final, challenging glare, and shut the door.
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