Rated-XXX by Mya Oh Blitz

Title: Rated-XXX

Author: Mya Oh

Genre: New Adult Romantic Comedy

Release Date: September 1, 2020

Blurb

So, this whole thing started with a dick cake. Literally, a cake shaped like a dick. Phallic confectionary. I spill a cup of coffee on the patron. We become friends. We fall in love.

Wait, let’s back-track a bit.

I’m Bailey Finch: twenty-four, living in LA, and working as the lowly Calendar Editor for a trendy Sex & Relationships magazine - think Cosmo on methamphetamines. I mostly take coffee orders.

I’m also woefully body-conscious, clinically anxious, and still a virgin. Not the cute, quirky sort, either. I’m a borderline train-wreck on my best days, and a dumpster fire on my worst.

But here’s the real kicker: the Dick Cake Guy? He also ends up being the best career opportunity to possibly fall into my lap. His name is Elijah Mattox: BDSM Porn Star prodigy, wanna-be mainstream actor, and the subject of my very first magazine interview.

Or at least, that’s how it started. There was something much bigger yet to come - no pun intended.

Rated XXX: A virgin. A porn star. A comedy.

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Excerpt

“Well, fuck me.”

Nothing makes you second-guess yourself like a room full of voluptuous models with tiny waists and breasts that still remained perky – side-boob abundant – without a bra. I told myself that if they were silicone, my boobs would look just as great in a thin, lacy bralette – but still found myself giving my own a mournful squeeze while hiding behind a potted plant. There there, boobs. You are stunning, even if you do fall sideways when I lie down. And one might be slightly bigger than the other. Spoiler alert: it was the left one. I'd named her Carly.

I'm still sexy, I told myself. I'm still that girl. You go, Bailey.

When I tip-toed from behind my hiding spot, I was immediately hit by the blinding light of bleached-white smiles and perfectly-winged eyeliner. Glossy mouths, long faux eyelashes. Laughter that rang higher, almost melodic, alongside the beating music that was playing. I could feel my pulse rise; my brain determinedly running hurdles as I quickly looked around, trying to find a spot to belong in a room – nay, a house – brimming with men and women who looked like they belonged on the set of Ex on the Beach.

Or, you know, a porn set.

And then, brain trip. I think I went cross-eyed. Anxious, uncertain of myself, feeling like a mouse amongst sphinxes. One looked at me, then another, and I could tell what they were thinking: who is this girl? The girl in what now felt like an ill-fitting maroon-colored dress with a high-neckline and full-length sleeves. The girl who bought her makeup at Target and had never worn a single false eyelash, and had actually forgotten to put mascara on before leaving the house. Who is she?

And it wasn't in any sort of inspired way. A maybe-she's-born-with-it way. More like, who invited the walking tater tot? With no mascara, and practically blonde eyelashes, I suddenly felt as if I looked like a plague-ridden Victorian child.

You've made a massive mistake, the mean, DJ-sounding voice in my head informed. Also, you're ugly.

I waited restlessly for Eli to pop up, texting him that I had arrived, when one of the women approached me. Pink-frosted hair, milky pale complexion – absolutely perfect, carved from ivory. Her highlighter made her cheeks pop; her eyes sparkled in that half-drunk, post-orgasm sort of way. She hadn't forgotten the mascara, and oh, how her ensemble was flawless. She was beautiful.

She smiled at me, almost too politely, and had the nerve to brush a strand of hair from my forehead.

“I've never seen you before,” she remarked. “Have you worked with Eli?”

“Erm,” I looked down at my knees. I felt, in that instant, like I had stumpy Hobbit legs. What was I thinking, wearing a dress that cut off mid-thigh? I should have gone for shorter; something to elongate my legs. And here I was. Dildo Baggins. “No. I work with Come Magazine. I've been interviewing him for an article.”

“Ah,” she nodded. “That makes sense.”

What was that supposed to mean? I could feel the Spanx sucking in my middle, wondering why the hell none of these women had an ounce of cellulite on them. Where were the actually curvy girls? Not to body-shame, of course – just for variety, for God's sake.

My face grew hot, and I had only just turned to walk straight out – sorry, Eli, another time, by which I mean a big fat NOPE – when he tapped me on the shoulder, extending a cocktail. The same he'd made me before.

“Morgan,” he didn't take his eyes off me. I felt myself swallow, hard. He wore a fitted black button-down, black slacks, and a silver watch. His hair was purposefully messy. His smile cunning as ever. “This is my good friend, Bailey. Doesn't she look stunning?”

“Oh yes,” Morgan agreed. “I love your shoes.”

“Thanks,” I told her. “Payless. Shoe Source.”

She looked at me as if puzzled. Then, giving Eli a wide smile, she walked away and disappeared into the throw of glittery bodies.

“For the love of God,” I exhaled heavily, relieved. I could hear Eli chuckle under his breath. “Could I just have some cake, please?”

He laughed louder, almost adoringly. As if he were charmed, and maybe he was. He left, returned with a big slice, and I happily accepted.

“I gave you a slice of the tip,” he told me. “I wasn't sure if you were ready for the shaft, or into balls.”

“I appreciate your consideration,” I dug in, shoving a large spoonful into my mouth while the eyes of a hundred former Miss-Carson-Cities studied me like I was anything but a human woman. “But it's all cake to me.”

Author Bio

Mya Oh is an author, mother, and amateur baker. Rated-XXX is her debut novel.

When not writing, she enjoys spending time exploring the woods of her rural town. She currently resides on the East Coast with her husband, two sons, and ginger tabby cat.

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