The Casting Couch

“How old were you when you lost your virginity?”

“Thirteen.”

“Tell me about that experience.”

She told her story—some convoluted lie about stolen glances, unkept promises, fumbling hands. She told her story to the stained couch, the pre-framed department store wall art, the segmented bodies skittering about in the darkness behind his office walls. And as she spoke he let the camera pull in close, pan down to the hem of her skirt, linger on the flash of red lingerie peeking through folds of plaid…