I’ve never held back when it comes to talking about sex. But after an attack while on holiday in Las Vegas, going to the police didn’t feel like an option
Last November, after a string of relationships with men had gone wrong, I decided to go to Los Angeles for a few months to try to fulfil my lifelong dream of having sex with an A-list celebrity. I have romanticised LA ever since, aged 14, I stumbled across that pinnacle of reality TV, The Hills. I fell in love with the idea of this star-studded city; a place where everyone can do a headstand, no one drinks wine at lunch, and it is totally normal to drive your car while outrageously stoned.
The first time I visited LA, I went to Lady Gaga’s house. The second time, I danced with Drake’s dad in a club in west Hollywood. On this third visit, I stayed with my best friend in her family’s pool house, and the A-lister in my sights was Cousin Greg from Succession.
