Being the sibling of a rising, hot Hollywood starlet is not the glamorous role that it seems. Well, alright, the parties and freebies and constant spotlight on your family does have its perks. Not to mention all the access to every hedonistic desire you could want, practically whenever you want it. But there is a downside to it as well: the stepping out of the shot for photo calls, the 3rd tier seating at awards shows, the neglect by your parents ... but I digress.

For the sake of my all access pass and the privileges afforded to me by people in the Hollywood system, I'll leave my sister's name out of it. An intrepid reader may be able to piece together my identity from the tale that I am about to tell, but even if you can't then that doesn't mean you can't enjoy the story, on whatever level. Even as we love our celebrities, here in the US and the world, we also are jealous and despise them too. We pay $10.50 to see their films, or pay for cable for their shows, buying autographs and used clothing they wore for this or that off eBay, but deep down we all know that we are the first to buy the newest issue of Us Weekly, People or OK! Magazine when they slip up. It's that pedestal that we place fame and beauty that always gets us - seeing those beautiful women up high where we put them, relishing every step they take till they fall down.

Bitter? No, I'm not bitter. I grew up around this world, it is the only thing I know. From my earliest memories, my sister was always the magnetic one. As a young child, the one who people, total strangers mind you, would come up to in the store to say hello or try to get the attention of. Anyone with that much spotlight would of course grow to love it, and it wasn't long before my parents began to seek talent agents and auditions. I would go along, too young to say otherwise, and watch as the oohs and ahhhs grew louder for her. As we grew up, my parents became more adapted to the lifestyle. Normal kids had soccer practice, or ballet. For us, it was rushing down the freeway at five in the morning in order to make a photo shoot for the newest cookie on the market. As both my sister and I grew older, we began to see less and less of our parents. Not because they didn't love us, only because they were too busy lining up her next role to be bothered by driving us here or there, or making it home for bedtime. Some kids were latch key kids - we, were chauffeur children. I think I grew to know the personal histories of our nannies, drivers and life coaches more than I did my own parents background. Ask me today and I still can't tell you what my mother's maiden name was.

After my sister's role on that one hit TV show morphed into a few key supporting roles in large summer blockbusters, I knew we were set. Ever since that TV show gig, I have always tagged along to make sure that my sister was ok and not harassed (beyond what she wanted of course - more on that later), but also just because I didn't have anything else to do. Being 22 when she turned 18, it made it easy for me to say to hell with college and just keep riding her coattails to the most glamorous events in the world. When her roles became more of a femme fatale sort of style though, I started to feel a little uncomfortable. She is my sister after all, and standing next to her while she vamps it up for hundreds of cameras, a giant poster of her nearly naked (heavily photoshopped) body right behind me, was ... well, a little weird.

Thankfully, we always have the rest of the cast. The co-stars, the aging-adult-who-used-to-be-the-hottest-there, the comedians who are genuinely funny but always trying just a little too hard to be liked. It's these people who make the experience worth it, these people who keep you from going crazy on the seat from boredom, these people who will suck your dick if you can convince them you'll put in a good word to the director.

That is the situation I find myself in right now, actually. It's fashion week in New York and we are out here to watch the parade of eating disorders showcase the weirdest, wildest pieces of material you will ever see on a human body. I love these corporate events, because even the event staff is hot.

"So you really think you can get me a walk-on spot?" said the gorgeous redhead who was on her knees in front of me, between licks of my cock. She had a pretty face, freckles in all the right places and the bluest eyes you'd ever see. But her nose was just a little too large and her shape just didn't work for the current Hollywood obsession with no ass girls.

"Yeah, I'll try. I mean, we used to eat dinner at the director's house on holidays, so he knows me and my sister really well. Oh yeah, that's it ... god you're good at that," I said. It was true - if she didn't get a job as an actress, she certainly could make it in porn. She looked at me with sultry eyes and continued flicking her tongue around the tip of my prick.

I leaned my back against the door and continued to hold the door knob with my hand. We were in a small, compact little storage closet that just hours before held folding chairs, and there were still a few in here. I didn't want someone to come barging in because some socialite couldn't find a seat. I ran my fingers through her wavy red hair and enjoyed the feeling. I'm not super endowed, but from what I hear, the size works for most girls, and I apparently could find work in porn myself, what with a staying power that increased from years of masturbating out of boredom somewhere quiet on the set of some Bruckheimer movie.

I moaned softly as the redhead started licking my balls - I needed to finish up quickly and get back out there, or else I would be the one without a seat. Holding onto her head gently but firmly, I started to fuck her mouth back and forth, moving her lips up and down my cock. She started getting into it and began to go faster, which was all I needed. Two minutes later, I was keeping her face firmly pressed against my stomach as I shot my load into her waiting mouth. Relaxing my hands on her head, I leaned my head against the back of the door and exhaled. Hoping I wouldn't notice, I saw her discretely spit my cum into a table napkin that was nearby. Obviously she had done this sort of blow-for-work thing before.

I zipped myself up, helped her to her feet, and then quietly opened the door, letting her out first.

"Thanks for that Andrea, I'll be sure to mention you," I said.

"It's Amy. Not Andrea," she replied, a glint of anger in her eye - she had had this sort of thing happen before too, apparently.

"Sorry, I knew that. It's just, you were so good I," and then intentionally trailed off, suddenly fascinated with the top button on my button-up shirt.

"Yeah, right," she said as she slipped out of the door and looked back at me, her voice now more accepting. "Just do what you can,"

I shut the door softly behind her and started my countdown. I normally wait about 2 minutes before exiting in situations like this - it makes it less likely that I will stumble into someone I know and have to awkwardly try to explain "Oh, so that's NOT the bathroom..."

The rest of the event went as you would expect, applause at all of the newest styles and a standing ovation for the fashion designer at the end, who strutted the runway like his models, donned in black jeggings and a blouse that probably would have best fit a woman half his size (and weight). People were gathering their things, cell phones in hand as they talked to their agents, contacts, coke dealers, whomever, and I stealthily made my through this throng of beauty and towards the exit.

My sister was all over her newest boyfriend, a hockey player who had won a huge contract two years ago but was now on the downward slope of his career. Five years from now, he'd probably be on some minor league team in Peoria, trying to relive his former glory. But right now, he was with one of the hottest young actresses out there, mingling with the who's who and enjoying every minute of it. Can't fault him for seizing the opportunity.

As I passed by my sister, we locked eyes for a moment. I smiled and made a drinking gesture with my hand, our secret code to let her know "Hey, enjoy your night, I'm getting the fuck out of here and going to find something better to do,". She nodded, tossed her long brown hair over her shoulder and resumed her conversation.

I walked outside and into the New York City night, the chorus of horns and kaleidoscope of taxi cabs and limos zooming by. The steps to the building were starting to fill in with more people as everyone headed off to their after parties or after after after parties. I casually scanned the crowd, mentally checking off whom I had slept with, who I wanted to sleep with and who was way too far down the list to even warrant a mention. I had ridden with my sister and her friends to this event and since I was ducking out early, that meant I was on my own for transportation. I walked away from the building and down the block a bit, getting out of the spotlight (literally and figuratively), debating about whether or not to hail a cab or just walk, maybe to a bar or back to the hotel.

As I stood on my toes, looking down the street for a cab, I nearly fell over as I was bumped into from behind by a woman talking loudly on her cell phone. I tried to play off my stumble gracefully as I spun around, ready to snarl at this rude bitch, when I stopped. The woman had also been startled enough by the collision to actually drop her phone and as I turned, it fell to the sidewalk, shattering into three large pieces.

"Fuck! I just bought that phone!" she said, bending over to pick up the pieces. As she stood up, her blond ponytail whipping behind her head, I immediately recognized her.

"Hey, it's just a phone. You can buy another one," I said, smiling at her. I knew exactly who she was, and I felt a little flutter in my stomach - really rare for me, I have to say - but I didn't want to let on too soon and seem like one of those mouth breathing idiots that I had to deal with all the time with my sister. I bent down to help her pick up what was left of her phone. "Besides, we might be able to fix it,"

I took the pieces from her and started to pretend like I knew what I was doing in trying to put it back together. The truth was, the phone was totally smashed, thanks to a crappy design decision to make everything one piece. Thanks Steve Jobs.

"You look familiar," I said, glancing from the pieces in my hands back to her face. "Were you in the show?"

"That shit? Hell no, I could never be that skinny," she said. She had seemed really frustrated with the phone but I could tell that the tension was easing. "I don't even know why I come to these things, I feel like I'll catch an eating disorder just by being in the same room,".

"Ha, well if that happened, maybe you would at least get a little bit of their height out of it," I said. Terrible line, I know but I was struggling with the fake small talk and the attempt at putting the phone back together at the same time.

To my surprise, she smiled at this, a wry crooked little smile that again gave me a little whoosh in my stomach. She played along. "Are you calling me short?"

"Well, not short exactly. Maybe height impaired. Do you have to get a booster seat when you go out to dinner?" I said with a laugh, our eyes now meeting. She wore a beautiful turquoise coat over what looked like a scoop neck top and a pair of jeans, with a pair of faux-fur slouchy style flat bottom boots. Not exactly the most form fitting outfit, but stylish in a way that showed she knew how to dress her style and body.

She laughed at this and reached out to take the phone from me, her fingers touching the back of my hand for a moment. "Here, give me that. It's broke for sure," she said, exhaling loudly in a mock frustrated way. "Now how am I supposed to find my car? If I don't get back to the tree by midnight, the rest of the elves are going to be pretty upset,"

"So do you work for Keebler or Santa?" I said. I found myself grinning like an idiot. Geez, what was wrong with me?

"I work seasonally. Only with Santa when he is short staffed, because he isn't unionized and the hours... ," she said, trailing off and smiling as she put the remnants of her phone in her bag, a gold glittery hand bag thing that I knew was the real deal. "I'm Kristen by the way,"

She extended her hand and I shook it, introducing myself. The fact that I was shaking hands with Veronica Mars herself, Kristen Bell, made me feel like more of a fanboy than I am comfortable enough to admit.

"Do you need to use my phone to call a ride?" I said, pulling my own phone out of my pocket and offering it to her.

"Nah, that's ok. I'll just slum it and grab a cab," Kristen said. She had clearly enjoyed our banter but now was clearly serious about finding a ride home, looking past me for the row of taxis that idled in the middle of the street.

"Well, at least let me hail one for you. I don't think they will be able to see you all the way down there," I said as we walked more towards the street and into the view of the cabs.

She chuckled but didn't protest and within a minute or two a cab was pulling up to the curb. I opened the door for her and she stepped in.

"Sorry about the phone," I said, holding the door and trying to make the moment last longer.

"It's alright, it's just a phone. Hey are you an actor or just a creppy cell phone ruiner? You look familiar?"

"No, but my sister is an actress. She was in that super hero movie last year, the one that was in 3D when it really didn't have to be. She wore the tight bodice and had the gratuitous boob shot every now and then?"

Kristen squinted at my face for a minute and then smiled that wry smile again. "Oh yeah, I see the resemblance. Tell her I said hi. Oh, and that I think your tits are WAY better than hers,"

I laughed at this, which left an awkward pause in the conversation, the sound of the cab idling filling the void.

"Well, thanks for trying to fix the phone. And next time you are in L.A., look me up, we should hang out. I'm sure you have people who can call people,"

"If I don't break their phones first," I said, laughing too strangely at my own joke. Kristen's smile was faltering a bit so I tried to right myself and cleared my throat. "I'll be sure to do that. Have a good night,"

"Thanks, you too," Kristen said, closing the door. The cab pulled away from the curb and I watched her go for a moment, before turning back to the building. Now I still needed to get home.

I walked back over to the building, where the crowd was even more dense. I stared off into space, looking at nothing in particular but thinking about my run in with Kristen Bell. One of the things that I had to do many, many times while on set with my sister was kill time. During my awkward teenage years, this meant watching a lot of movies and TV shows in a trailer/dressing room while waiting for shooting to wrap. One of my favorites had been "Veronica Mars", the show that Kristen had starred in and had helped elevate her status as a strong young actress. Maybe it was the way that you could sense her vulnerability despite the tough facade, maybe it was the surprisingly dark story lines or maybe it was just the talent of Kristen herself, but "Veronica Mars" always registered with me in a way that you would rarely see on TV these days. I don't normally get star struck and actually pride myself these days on being pretty much jaded and immune to it, but meeting her in such an unexpected way, coupled with the time in my life when I watched the show, had definitely left an impact on me. I was also surprised at how witty Kristen was, which to me meant that she had real comedic talent. Granted, her career hadn't taken off like a rocket after the show but I knew she was still getting work and was hardly a nobody.

Lost in my thoughts, I jumped a little when I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket from a text message. Pulling it out, I read it. It was from my sister.

"2 much drugs @ this party. We R g2g back to hotel. U comin?"

Ah my sister. Never did quite learn how to spell. Apparently she had slipped out when I was talking with Kristen. I texted her back.

"Be there later, have fun."

I put my phone away and got my second surprise of the night as I saw a man walking up the street towards me.

"Hey man," he said, extending his hand. "You waiting for someone or do you need a ride?"

The man was Dean Simonds, agent to the stars. His beautiful, A-List girlfriend was with him and she smiled at me as we shook hands. Dean had tried to hire my sister on as an agent over 10 years ago, back when she was a kid, and I remember him being a pretty nice guy. I also remember that he had a nice little waiting room for the "talent"'s family to wait in, complete with an espresso machine for the stage parents and the latest video games for the siblings.

"Still trying to decide between walking or grabbing a cab," I replied.

"We can give you a ride if you are going downtown. How's your sister?" Dean said.

"She's good. Still working, still making money," I replied. "A ride would be great,"

I followed Dean and his girlfriend to their waiting car, a hybrid luxury sedan that had to cost a pretty penny. His driver got out and opened the door for us as we got into the backseat, with Dean in the middle. As we pulled into traffic, Dean asked where to and I gave the driver the address.

Sitting in the car, soft music playing over the professional quality speakers, Dean shrugged his coat off while his girlfriend texted on her phone. She had smiled at me a gorgeous smile but I knew that it was simple pleasantries since we didn't run in the same circle and she clearly didn't know who I was. That's ok with me, I knew who she was - she had been in countless magazines and magazine covers, and both her and Dean had been photographed happily in the pages of many gossip mags.

"How's business?" I said, not really knowing what else to say. Agents often were sleazy, mile a minute shysters but Dean seemed to have a different air about him.

"Business is good. I'm too old for the day to day stuff anymore so I have other people running things," he said. "I just got tired of the scene. Besides, you can only make so much money before a matter of how much is too much,"

"Ah, I wondered why you weren't sniffing around my sister," I said with a laugh. Dean laughed too.

"Believe me, I would have loved to represent her. In more than one way too, if you catch my drift," he said. This was a little disconcerting, given Dean's reputation as a ladies man, but he seemed to mean it in jest so I took it that way.

"Right now though, I have other projects going on and even though our relationship is a somewhat open one," Dean said, rubbing his hand on his girlfriend's leg, which made her giggle. "I don't want to get into that skirt chasing game again ... at least not full time. I'll leave that to younger guys like you,"

We both laughed at this. The driver pulled up to the curb outside of my hotel and a doorman came and opened the door, a little surprised at the beautiful woman in the car with us. I got out and held the door for a second.

"Thanks for the ride. And if you ever get back into things again, I'll put in a good word with my sister. She's a big girl and can take care of herself," I said, letting him know that I didn't see him in the same light as most agents.

"Who knows what the future holds, I can't rule out never getting involved again. But for now, I'll just let the chips fall where they may," Dean said. "Take care,"

I closed the door and they pulled away, the doorman still a little awestruck.

"Was that... ?" he said to me as I walked inside.

"Yes it was. And no, I can't get you an autograph," I said with a wink.

I took the elevator up to my floor, which housed a few luxury rooms and the presidential suite (I told you having a famous sibling had it's perks) and passed my sister's suite. I could hear loud music coming from her room, and the giggle of female voices and a few male voices as well. Given that it was only just now midnight, I knew the party would be raging for many more hours to come.

Walking into the quiet of my room, I kicked my shoes off and sat on the bed, turning the TV on to catch Sportscenter. The time on the bedside clock said 12:04AM and I couldn't help but think about Kristen's comments of getting back before midnight. I smiled to myself, hoping that she made it in time and avoided the wrath of all those elves.

After a few more days in New York, visiting friends and taking in the rest of Fashion Week, I was back in Los Angeles. Like so many others, I wasn't a native Californian, I simply was forced to migrate there as the acting roles for my sister grew more and more prevalent. It's not that I didn't like LA, with the great weather and the smog, but the urban sprawl and traffic certainly grew to be incredibly grating as the years went by.

I had a modest apartment near Hollywood, paid for each month from royalty checks that my sister collected as her movies went from the movie theater to DVD, to HBO to basic cable. I never really worried about money too much, but I was hardly rich. It sometimes bugged me to have to talk to my sister (or her assistant) for money if I needed to buy anything large or if I forgot to pay the rent due to simply being out of town, but I managed. Besides, most of my days were spent playing video games or hanging out with friends I had made throughout the industry.

One of these friends was Brian, a guy a couple of years younger than me. Brian made no aspirations to be an actor like so many other LA residents, but instead had come to Los Angeles to actually work as a camera guy for scripted shows or the occasional low budget movie. The reality show boom had hit his field hard, as the need for stand alone operators dwindled but like me, he managed to get by. The best thing about Brian though, was that he helped me keep the Hollywood world in perspective. He saw things from behind the scenes, knew who were divas and dicks and wasn't afraid to let you know his thoughts when he was away from the camera. I was over at his house on a slightly hazy afternoon when he launched into one of his famous spiels.

"Now don't get me wrong," Brian said, between sips of his beer. "I know that a lot of these girls have no nudity clauses in their contracts, but really - are the pasties necessary?"

"You're talking about that Showtime gig you did last week?" I replied. We were playing an intense game of Xbox and I was kicking his ass. He always got riled up when I blew a hole through him in Call of Duty.

"Yeah. I mean, as a camera guy, I'm going to see your tits regardless. And believe me, I've seen more than my fair share. But it's becoming the norm for us to stop takes, takes that were perfect with a great shot by yours truly, just so some up and coming young starlet can get her glue on nipple covers adjusted. God forbid we see a nipple!"

"It's the internet man. Those geeks have nothing better to do than freeze frame a movie, take a screen capture and edit it in Photoshop just to see if they can spot a hint of an areola,"

"A what?"

"The nipple dude. The nipple is the pointy part, the areola is the part of the breast that the nipple is on. Some are big, some are small..."

"Oh yeah, that, right. I guess you are right, once one of those pics hits the internet, its everywhere. All those pervs whacking off to some chick's nip slip,"

"Oh what, like you don't?"

"Hell yeah I do. And I appreciate their work, as a horny man. But as a cameraman, those pasties make my life miserable. I've gotta reframe the shot, the lighting has to be adjusted ... it just gets really old, really quick,"

"I hear ya," I said.

This continued on for a few more minutes as I continued kicking his ass in the game. Finally after the round was over, he tossed his controller on the couch to go get another beer. I heard him open it in the kitchen and walk back, taking a sip.

"So, I heard about this party that Alison Brie is throwing up in the hills tonight. You wanna go?"

"What type of party is it?" I asked. I always ask these questions because a party in the hills can be more trouble than its worth. When my sister just hit it big, we used to go to parties all over LA but the ones in the hills were usually the most out of control. Regardless of whose house it was, there always seemed to be a ton of pot, a lot of skanky girls and the cops inevitably ended up being called because one too many idiots threw one too many chairs into the neighbor's pool. Having to scramble to leave got real old, real fast.

"Oh man, it's just really chill. My buddy Ken works on "Community" and he said that its just like a few intimate friends sort of thing, nothing major. Should be low key, with some good weed and some hot ladies,"

The prospect was tempting, as Brian and I's taste in ladies and parties pretty much ran parallel with each other. Plus, Alison Brie was ridiculously hot and funny too. I always tried to catch "Community" on Hulu when I could.

"Sure, pick me up at my house at 10?"

"Yeah, no problem. Now let's play something else, I'm tired of getting my ass handed to me,"

Brian was his usual 30 minutes late in picking me up. How he ever managed to be on set on time was beyond me, considering his perpetual lateness. I climbed into his beat up old Camry and we headed up into the hills, listening to KROQ all the way there. I didn't like corporate radio but every now and then KROQ still managed to surprise me with what they played, especially at night. Brian was dressed in jeans and a button up shirt, I was in my usual t-shirt and dark pants, topped with a sports coat that cost me two months of rent and a pair of white Adidas. I didn't go for much of the fashion that you saw these days, and would hardly consider myself trendy, preferring the classics. I of course saw every fashion trend months ahead of every one else, but that didn't mean I had to buy into it - who had the time?

When we arrived, Brian had been right about the atmosphere of the party. Alison's house was an old converted bungalow style, set off from the road behind a small gate and overlooking partially the city below. She hadn't quite made it just yet, but the location was nothing to spit at. Walking in, there was some low fi indie rock playing and about 30 people milling about. Most of them seemed to be congregated in the living room, where a bong the size of my leg was setup and a semi circle of people around it waiting their turn.

I did my usual people scan and didn't see anyone I knew outright, but a few faces that I did recognize. Some of Alison's "Mad Men" cast mates were there, including January Jones and the amazing Christina Hendricks, whose tits seemed to defy all laws of physics. There were also some other hot women of note, including a couple of gorgeous redhead twins laughing and joking with a massively built hispanic guy in the kitchen. Also sitting in a chair off to the side was comedy legend Chevy Chase, a guy that I loved for his comedy but hated for his career choices.

We walked in and stood off to the side away from the table, Brian giving a fist bump to his friend Ken. I walked over to the dining room table where a makeshift bar had been setup. Top shelf liquor all the way - Alison knew how to party. I made a drink for myself and made small talk with some of the other guests before going to join Brian, who had taken a seat on the couch next to January.

She was dressed in a floral print sleeveless skirt and had her long blond hair pinned back behind her ears. She had clearly had a couple of drinks or tokes from the bong, as her beautiful face glowed a nice warm red and her words were just a little louder than everyone else's. She smiled at Brian when he sat down but went back to the conversation a moment later. Christina was sitting across from her, sipping what looked like a rum and coke and generally staying quiet. Alison was at the center of the group, in the middle of the couch, and was actively encouraging her guests to take a hit from the bong. Her eyes fixed on me.

"Hey, sport coat! If you're going to drink my free booze, at least come sit with the rest of us. You're being creepy McCreeperson standing over there,"

"Just watching the festivities," I said with a smile, lifting my glass in her direction. "Great place you have Alison,"

"Thanks! I wanted to buy something bigger but these bitches insisted that I needed to live away from everyone up here," Alison said, playfully gesturing to January and Christina and some of the other women.

"I like it up here. You don't want to look too much like a prima donna by living amongst the bourgeois like us," I said with a laugh. I followed Alison's suggestion and found a spot on the floor next to the table.